CHAPTER IV. – A DOUBLE CONFESSION
This was what was on little Flossie's mind, and on her grandmother's mind too, for that matter! It had happened several months ago, during the child's last visit to the Tower House.
One day Flossie had a cold. Not a very bad one, but enough to make her cross and uncomfortable. She was tired of reading, tired of her dolls, tired of everything, and it was a very woebegone-looking little girl that came to say good-night to grandmamma.
'I wish I'd something to amuse me,' she said dolefully. 'If my cold isn't better to-morrow and I can't go out, I don't know what to do all day.'
Lady Melicent considered.
'I'll tell you what, Flossie,' she said. 'You might make some bead-mats. That would amuse you. I have some very pretty beads in the green casket that stands on the old cabinet in the passage – at least I think they're there. I'll see to-morrow.'
Flossie jumped with pleasure.
'Oh, that would be nice, granny. Can't you look for them to-night? I might make a mat for mamma's birthday. Mayn't I go and look for them?'
'No, dear. The passage is cold, and besides that, the cabinet is too high for you to reach up to. You might pull over some of the heavy ornaments and hurt yourself. Wait till to-morrow, and I will find the beads for you. I won't forget.'
Flossie was sitting reading in the boudoir the next morning, when Lady Melicent came in with two or three little cardboard boxes in her hand. She looked at the child.
'Flossie,' she said quietly, 'here are the beads. I found them up-stairs in my work-box. They were not in the green casket.'
'Thank you, grandmamma,' said Flossie. But she scarcely looked up.
'Don't you care about making the mats now, Flossie?' said Lady Melicent. 'You seemed so pleased with the idea last night.'
'I would like to make a mat for mother very much,' said Flossie, getting up and coming round to her grandmother.
But that was all she said, and two days after, the little girl left rather suddenly, as her father came over to fetch her and her cold was better. And ever since then there had been a little ache in grandmother's heart about Flossie. For that morning, when she went to look for the beads in the malachite casket, she had found it broken, and speaking of it to Naylor, the housemaid had thought it right to tell her that it was Miss Flossie's doing.
'I saw her climbing up on a chair, when I was in the book-room,' said Naylor. 'And I heard something fall. It was the green box. She put it back again in its place, but the lid was broke off the hinges, and one corner off. I'm very sorry, and I'm sure Miss Flossie was, for I heard her crying.' Flossie was a great favourite of Naylor's.
'I wish she had told me about it herself,' said the old lady with a sigh. 'But don't say anything about it, Naylor. She will forget about it probably for the time, but when she comes back again, I hope she will tell me.'
Flossie did not forget about it, though she tried to do so. But the broken casket was the mysterious 'something on her mind,' of which she had spoken to Ruth. And the remembrance of it was what had prevented her enjoying as usual the thought of a visit to the Tower House, and given her such a dislike to the long passage which had once been her favourite play-room.
You can now understand with what a strange mixture of feelings Ruth listened to Flossie's story. She soothed the poor little girl as well as she could, though feeling dreadfully ashamed when Flossie went on to blame herself bitterly.
'It was so naughty and mean of me not to tell granny,' she sobbed, 'for she's always so kind. And sometimes I've been afraid she'd think somebody else had broken it. Do you think granny has never found it out, Ruth?'
'I can't say, I'm sure, Miss Flossie,' said Ruth sadly. 'But it's clear there's only one thing to be done now, and that's for you to tell my lady yourself all about it.'
'I'll tell her when I go to have my good-night talk with her,' said Flossie. 'O Ruth, I'll never hide anything again.'
Her words were fervently echoed in Ruth's heart. She was on the point of confessing her own secret to the little girl, but a moment's reflection made her hesitate. No, she too must tell all to Lady Melicent herself, and it must be for her to judge if Flossie should be told.
'And if my lady thinks me not fit to be trusted any more, and I have to go home in disgrace, I must just bear it. It's my own fault,' thought Ruth.
It was a tearful but a happy little girl who came trotting up to be undressed and put to bed at the Tower House that evening.
'Granny has been so kind,' she said, 'and I am so glad I've told her. It was dreadful to have it on my mind, Ruth dear. And granny has been telling me how good you were about the basin, and I said to her it was you that said I must tell. And do you know, she did know I'd broken it, only she waited for me to tell myself. It's never been mended, but now she's going to send it to be done.'
Ruth sympathised in Flossie's joy, and the child was too happy to notice the girl's sadness. All Florentia said only made her own confession the more difficult.
'There is no real need for it,' said the tempter. 'No one can be blamed now. Indeed, it was not you who broke it after all.'
But Ruth had a conscience.
Late that evening there came a timid knock at my lady's door, and in answer to her 'come in,' a pale and trembling girl appeared.
'Ruth!' exclaimed the old lady in surprise. 'Is there anything wrong?'
'Oh no, my lady. Miss Flossie's in bed and asleep, quite happy. It's not about her. It's – it's – oh, my lady, it's about me. I – I broke, at least I didn't, but I thought I did, and that's just as bad. I thought I broke the green casket, and – and – I couldn't bear to tell – just as there'd been such trouble about the bowl, and – if I must go home, I'll not complain, my lady. I' – but here she broke down into sobs.
Lady Melicent stared at her in concern.
'You broke or thought you broke the green casket,' she said. 'Why, Flossie has just been telling me, what indeed I knew already – that she broke it,' and she looked at Ruth as if she half feared that the girl was dreaming.
'That was how I came to tell myself,' said Ruth. 'Miss Flossie has been so unhappy about it that at last she could bear it no longer, and this afternoon in the garden she told me. And then I felt that ashamed to think that I, more than twice her age, and knowing how wrong it was, had been hiding what I thought I'd done. It was last week – I knew I shouldn't touch the cabinet, but it looked so dusty one morning I felt somehow tempted to do it, and the green box, leastways the lid, slipped – of course I see now how it was. The hinges were loose, and it was broke already. But I thought I'd done it, and I couldn't bear to tell for fear your ladyship should think me really too bad, and just as Miss Flossie was coming and all. So I waited, and then I got so as I couldn't tell. I wondered Naylor never noticed it. I wouldn't have let another be blamed for it. But when she didn't seem to have found it was broke, I thought I needn't. And now I'm quite ready to go home; it's only what I deserve.'
'No, Ruth, I should be very sorry for you to go home. I am very glad you have told me now. You did not tell Miss Flossie?'
'No, my lady. I thought it best to tell you first.'
'That was wise. I think there is no need for Miss Flossie to be told of it. She has had a lesson herself, and she respects you, Ruth. It may make you feel ashamed, but that you must bear. I should not like her to lose her feeling of looking up to you. And I am sure you will be even more anxious than before to teach her to be perfectly open and straightforward.'
Ruth could scarcely speak; her tears, though they were tears of relief and gratitude, nearly choked her.
'And,' continued my lady, going on speaking partly for the sake of giving the girl time to recover her composure, 'I do not think it will be necessary to tell Naylor, either.'
'Oh, thank you, my lady,' said Ruth fervently. And she could not help smiling a little, as she caught sight of Lady Melicent's face.
'As for Mossop,' added Lady Melicent, 'I will leave it to you. I daresay you will like to tell her when you have an opportunity, as you are away from your mother.'
'Yes, thank you, my lady,' said Ruth again. 'And indeed – I don't think you will ever have reason to regret your kindness.'
She could scarcely speak yet: the tears were still so near. But little Flossie was not the only person in the Tower House who fell asleep that night with a lightened heart and warm gratitude to the dear old lady.
The rest of Flossie's visit passed most cheerily, and Lady Melicent had not reason to complain that she no longer heard her little visitor's merry voice and laugh about the house. And a very unexpected event came to pass before the end of the summer, which greatly added to Ruth's happiness at Tower House. Naylor got married! Her husband was the gardener at a neighbouring house; a very meek and mild little man who gave in to her in everything, so it is to be hoped her temper improved. The new upper-housemaid was quite as good at 'training' as Naylor, and by no means so great at scolding, which, I think, no one regretted. And Lady Melicent lived long enough for Ruth herself in time to be promoted to what had once been Naylor's post, which she filled with honourable faithfulness till her dear mistress's death.
In the old lady's will she left 'to her faithful servant Ruth Perry, a casket of green malachite.' That was many years ago. The green casket has for long been the most valued ornament of the best room in Ruth's comfortable farmhouse, and her children, and grandchildren too, have all heard its story.
Leo's Post-office
'Oh dear!' said Leo's mother, 'there, I have run out of stamps again. And I don't like getting them from the servants. It is so apt to cause mistakes. It is really very stupid of me. Have you any, Marion?'
Marion was Leo's big sister. She was fifteen.
'I have one or two – yes, three,' Marion answered. 'Will that do, mamma?'
'It must do; oh yes, I think there are only three letters that really matter. I can't send for any so late. The servants are all busy; these letters can be put in the pillar-box just opposite. But I really must not let myself run out of stamps in this way.'
'Some days you have so many more letters than others. It must be difficult to know how many stamps you need,' said Marion, who thought mamma so perfect that she did not even like to hear her calling herself 'stupid' for running short of stamps.
'I wish we had a post-office in the house,' said Cynthia, the next sister. 'I did so want a postcard to send to Fletcher's to order my new piece of music, and when I was out I forgot to get any, though mamma said I might buy a whole packet. It's cheaper – for you get twelve for eightpence, and if you buy one at a time it's a penny each.'
'Or two for three-halfpence,' said Leo. 'That would make ninepence for twelve, not eightpence.'
'That's just like Leo,' said Cynthia; 'he's always counting about money and things like that. You're a regular little merchant, Leo.'
'Don't laugh at him,' said his mother. 'He is very careful and exact, and being careful and exact doesn't need to make anyone selfish or miserly. Leo has always money ready for birthdays and Christmas presents.'
Leo looked pleased, but he did not say anything; he was always rather a silent little boy. But later that same evening, when he knew that his mother would be alone, he came up to her quietly.
'Mamma,' he said, 'I want to ask you something. Would you mind letting me have a little money out of my packet?'
'What for, dear?' she asked.
Leo grew rather red.
'It was what you were saying about running out of stamps that put it in my head,' he said. 'And what Cynthia said too about my being like a merchant – I would like to be a merchant, mamma, if that means selling things. I'd awfully like to have a shop, but of course I can't – at least not a proper shop. But oh, mamma, I've been thinking if I might have a post-office,' and Leo's eyes gleamed with eagerness.
'A post-office, my dear boy!' said his mother, 'how could you have a post-office?'
'Oh, of course I don't mean a regular post-office. I couldn't have telegraphs, nor get people to post their letters in our letter-box. You wouldn't like it, would you, mamma?' he said gravely. 'But I just mean a post-office for selling stamps, and postcards, and perhaps newspaper wrappers. And wouldn't it be nice for you, mamma, always to be able to get stamps in a minute, however late it was – you'd never have to say you'd run out of them, then?'
Mamma smiled.
'Yes, that would be very nice, certainly,' she said. 'But it wouldn't be much good to you, Leo, if you gave your trouble and lent your money for nothing? You should make some profit, even if it were only a halfpenny on a dozen stamps.'
'Or a penny on twelve postcards,' said Leo consideringly. 'I might buy a whole packet and sell them in ones or twos. That would be very nice. But even without that, I would so like to have a post-office, mamma. It would really be a help to you.'
So it was settled. Mamma gave Leo five shillings out of his 'packet,' which was a private savings-bank she kept for him, and Leo, as happy as a king, set off to the chemist's shop round the corner, which was the nearest post-office in the neighbourhood, and laid out the whole five shillings in penny stamps, halfpenny stamps, a packet of postcards, another of newspaper wrappers, a few twopence-halfpenny stamps, and two or three foreign postcards, just in case mamma were writing to France, or Germany, as she sometimes did. The chemist did look rather astonished at such extensive purchases, but he was very civil and obliging; and as he was a nice man, Leo felt glad he had gone to him instead of to the big post-office a quarter of a mile off.
'For he must gain something on as much as five shillings,' thought Leo.
Then he came home and began to make his arrangements. He had to consult his sisters about them, but they were very kind and very much interested, and were quite pleased that the post-office should be in the schoolroom, which of course was as much their room as Leo's.
There was a little old-fashioned cupboard or bookcase in the schoolroom, in which, above the enclosed part which had glass doors, were two little drawers not used for anything in particular. On these drawers Leo had set his heart. 'They would be just the thing,' he thought. And luckily Marion and Cynthia thought the same. So the drawers were cleared of such contents as they had, and Leo set to work.
In one drawer he arranged all his wares, as neatly as possible – using the lids of some old cardboard boxes as divisions. There were the penny stamps in one, the halfpenny ones in another, the wrappers and post-cards behind. And as of course Leo could not stand all day long at the post-office to wait for people coming to buy, he made the second drawer into his 'till.' In this he made divisions too, one for the money paid for stamps, another for that for postcards, and so on. Each division was marked accordingly, so that every morning or evening he could count up his sales, and see that all was right. Besides all this, he wrote out in his neatest, roundest writing a set of rules for 'Hertford Square Post-office,' as he called it, and to the card on which these rules were written he fastened a pencil by a long string, as he had seen done in real post-offices for telegrams, and a number of tiny little papers on which everybody who bought stamps was to mark down the number they had had, and to drop the little paper into the drawer.
And then with great triumph he summoned mamma and his sisters, and Miss Nesbitt, and nurse, and the butler, and in short everybody he could get hold of, to come and admire.
'It is really very neat and nice,' said mamma; and by way of 'handsel' or 'good-luck' to the new post-office, she immediately bought six stamps, for which she gave a whole penny extra, though Leo explained that of course he did not expect that usually.
'I hope your rules will be kept,' said Marion who had been reading them over. 'The principal one is about paying at once. Well, of course, that's a very good rule. It is so easy to forget to pay for such little things, if one doesn't do it at once. And then about the time of closing every evening.'
'At eight o'clock – when I go to bed,' Leo said. 'I shall come round then for the last time and shut up.'
'But,' said Cynthia, 'supposing mamma wanted a stamp quite late at night. It might happen, you know, and that was to be the good of having a post-office in the house. And if you had locked them all up' —
'I can't lock them up,' said Leo; 'there's no key.'
'Well then,' said Marion, 'I think you should make a rule that if mamma wants anything after eight, she should be allowed to have it, or if any one else does, they might too, if they got her to sign one of the papers. Of course it wouldn't often happen, but just in case.'
'Very well,' Leo agreed; 'I'll add on that new rule,' and so he did.
All went well for some time. The stock, of stamps especially, was sold out several times in the course of the first week or two, and everybody paid regularly. Once or twice, it must be owned, Cynthia forgot to pay, and more than once or twice people forgot to mark down what they had taken. But Cynthia was always ready with her pennies as soon as Leo asked her, and except for this the money was all right. More than all right indeed, for one day a friend of his mother's made such big purchases that he was quite cleared out, and had to set off to the chemist's at once, and thanks to this and to other smaller profits, by the end of the first week he had gained threepence, and by the end of the second, twopence-halfpenny more.
So Leo began to think his post-office a great success.
But one morning he had a start.
He had left all quite correct the evening before; the money was right, and he knew exactly how many stamps he had left, when he had made his last round, as he called it, at bedtime; but this morning, though the money was the same, the stamps were not; three penny ones were gone.
Leo counted them all over and over again, 'to be quite sure,' even though in his heart he had been quite sure from the first. Then he ran up-stairs to ask his mother if possibly she had taken them after he was in bed, and forgotten to mark them down. No, mamma had not had any. Leo began to look quite distressed.
'Don't worry about it,' said his mother. 'It's the first time anything has gone wrong. I will pay the threepence, dear. It has just been some mistake.'
Leo thanked her and ran off, determining to count more carefully than ever. And for two or three days all was right. Then again, one morning, it happened again that stamps were missing. Two penny and one halfpenny this time!
'Dear, dear,' thought Leo, 'I don't like this at all,' and again mamma was consulted. 'If this goes on,' he said, 'I must give it up.'
But mamma advised him to wait a little; perhaps some one would remember having taken them.
So Leo waited, though far from easy in his mind. Only one thing consoled him.
'If it was a robber,' he thought, 'they'd have been more likely to take the pennies than the stamps.'
For some days poor Leo was in great trouble about the strange disappearance of his stamps. He asked everybody, but nobody had had any they had not paid for. And he was sure nobody in the house would say what was not true. He began to think of robbers and burglars, only, as Benjamin the footman reminded him, 'It wasn't common-sense to suppose burglars'd steal postage-stamps and nought else; not that there was much chance of silver plate about. Mr. Trev, the butler, and he – Benjamin himself – was a deal too sharp.'
Benjamin seemed a little cross about the stamps, and so did Trev, Leo thought. And mamma advised him to say no more about it. If it happened again – well, she began to be afraid he would have to give up his post-office, and for some evenings, to make quite sure, she counted them over herself with him at bedtime, and as they each time proved right the next morning, she almost thought Leo must have miscounted.
But alas! Two mornings after that, and again stamps were missing, two this time, and, by way of variety this time, a newspaper wrapper!
'It really is very queer,' said Leo's mother when he flew to tell her of the new troubles. 'I really do feel as if I would like to find out who takes them. I've a great mind to sit up late one evening and watch.'
'Oh no, mamma, please don't,' said poor Leo, looking quite frightened; 'at least if you do, you must let me sit up too. Just think if it was real robbers,' for he could not quite get the idea out of his head that burglars after all might have to do with it.
Mamma laughed, but still she promised him that she would choose a night when his father was at home.
'I don't think I should care to sit up late all alone,' she said, 'even though I don't think it likely that burglars are stealing your stamps, Leo.'